<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>After The Fact by Amelia_Friend</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165116">After The Fact</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Friend/pseuds/Amelia_Friend'>Amelia_Friend</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And children, Black Friday and TGWDLM never happened, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, there's a car crash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:47:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Friend/pseuds/Amelia_Friend</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where they didn't die as teenagers, they grow up.<br/>Partially.</p><p>Twenty five, and twenty six, twenty six, and twenty seven.<br/>They've got everything sorted, right?</p><p>Even in a mundane world, it only takes one moment for it all to end.<br/>And the ones who are left will spend a lifetime trying to make sense of it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alice/Deb (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Lex Foster/Ethan Green</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Before</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">There is a world where everything ended before it began.</p><p class="western">There are many worlds like that.</p><p class="western">Worlds where the apocalypse came in many forms, and those that were little more than children died for reasons that were not reasons.</p><p class="western">This is not that world.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">This world began with a double friendship.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They were children – six and seven and seven and eight years old when they met; blank slates with no idea who they'd grow up to be, and no desire to grow up any sooner than they had to.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They were teenagers – sixteen and seventeen and seventeen and eighteen; sent to another school against her will – away from her friends, and the father she wanted to stay with; too old for school, too young to know what else to do; angry and abandoning their school before it could abandon her the way everything else had done; and alone – the last one left in the place she had spent so much time with her friends.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They were young adults.</p><hr/><p class="western">Deb moved away for college one year before Alice was able to. This wasn't news – Deb had always been a year older than Alice (six months older chronologically, but a year older as far as school years were concerned – and isn't that the most important factor).</p><p class="western">They broke up about a month later. This wasn't news either. Long distance relationships are difficult – even more so when you're seventeen and eighteen years old, branching out and living away from home for the first time.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It isn't news but it still hurts.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's about a month where Alice refuses to visit Hatchetfield at all, much to the chagrin of her father. And then there's about nine months where Alice spends more time in Hatchetfield than in Clivesdale, much to the chagrin of her mother and step father. But Alice is happy and that should be all that matters.</p><p class="western">(It's not. Sometimes what's best for you, isn't what's best for your child – some parents still try to get them to do it anyway)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But time passes, and her final year of High School has ended almost before she realised it began, and she too is moving away for college (on completely the opposite side of the country to where Deb is currently living – not that she paid any attention to that when selecting her home for the next four years)</p><hr/><p class="western">“I'd make a great dad, I'm just saying”</p><p class="western">He'd said that once, the morning of Retail Hell (Black Friday, for those who managed to live under a rock up until this point).</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It was January – she was eighteen, a high school drop out earning minimum wage at a toy shop; he was nineteen, and … currently between jobs. Deb was busy with her senior year of high school, and Alice was busy with Deb. Hannah was thirteen, and still spending more time inside her own head than anywhere else.</p><p class="western">They're still working on the fund to visit California – and they'll get there, absolutely they will, but – short of “borrowing” inventory from the store and selling it at … other locations – money is not exactly easy to come by for a pair of teenagers, especially money that can be saved for California and doesn't need to spent on something more imminently.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Still, her periods late, and she's kind of terrified, and Ethan does what he said he'd never do again.</p><p class="western">Ask his dad for a job at the body shop.</p><p class="western">It's not like they can move out immediately. (Again. Money) But there's a plan now. And a deadline.</p><p class="western">A pretty firm deadline, according to the two lines they stare at for far too long in the back bathroom at ToyZone.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They move into their own apartment two months before Chuck makes her official entrance.</p><p class="western">(Chuck being Ethan's name on account of the throwing up. There was a lot of throwing up)</p><p class="western">It's … small, and there's a weird stain on the ceiling in the bathroom, and the neighbours aren't the friendliest lot, and they could only even afford it due to a lot of help from Ethan's dad that … they're going to have to figure out how to pay back at some point.</p><p class="western">It's also fairly cramped – but with two adults (technically), a baby (on the way) and a teenager in a one room apartment, who would really expect anything else.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Not that Hannah ever really 'officially' moves out from their mother's “home” - it's more that the pair simply ghost her. They don't tell her that they're moving out, or that Hannah is living with Lex. They just do it. They see their mother occasionally in town. They cross to the other side of the road. She doesn't even notice.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Chuck is born at the back end of August (she's a lovely little girl they name Natalie. She's still called Chuck more often than not). Hannah spends the entire summer desperate for her to arrive.</p><p class="western">When she does, there's no one available to look after Hannah (Lex wouldn't leave Hannah with Pamela if she were the last person in Hatchetfield – Deb had gone to Clivesdale for the weekend, because that's where Alice lives, and by the time they get back, everything is finished)</p><p class="western">They bring Hannah with them to the hospital.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Hannah is pretty sure she never wants kids.</p><p class="western">Chuck is still cute though.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Deb meets her once, when she's an entire three days old – and then she's gone for six years.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alice is a godsend that first year – the days when Chuck screamed all night and they just need five minutes, just five minutes to shower alone; when Hannah needs some help with her homework but Ethan is working and Lex's brain hasn't functioned properly since January of the previous year; when they're just together – the five of them – and they're a family, and they don't speak of the missing piece.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alice meets Chuck so many times. She leaves four days after her first birthday. She's gone for four years.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Life goes on.</p><hr/><p class="western">And life comes back.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alice moves home after graduation.</p><p class="western">By “home” - Alice moves into her father's house. It's where she always wanted to live when she was a teenager, and now she needs a place to stay while she … finds a job? That's a thing she needs to do right?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Hatchetfield is different than she remembers. Not in the big ways – it's changed since she's been away, or maybe she's changed.</p><p class="western">She loves being home, loves spending time with her dad, loves seeing old friends and not-so-friends that she hasn't seen in years.</p><p class="western">She misses things too – misses living in a too small home where they were always half on top of one another, misses the random midnight runs to the store with a group, misses the classes even, the way life was easily structured.</p><p class="western">She misses dating every pretty girl that crossed her path (the dating scene in Hatchetfield being exceptionally grim)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She meets little Jack Green – six months old, and a little ball of sunshine and laughter in a way that she doesn't remember his parents being back when they were all teenagers – before she sees Lex or Ethan again.</p><p class="western">(She works at the nursery now – the only place that was hiring, and her seven years of babysitting means they take her – it wasn't a weird thing)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It takes another day or two before she manages to see either Lex or Ethan.</p><p class="western">It was Lex, picking Jack (she calls him Spud) up at the end of her work shift.</p><p class="western">Little Chuck is with her too – five years old and a brand new Kindergartener; hair pulled up in two messy braids, wearing a dress that was probably yellow when the day began – but school had obviously been very fun. She wears Lex's mischievous smile on Ethan's face; and Alice remembers when she was three days old and entirely brand new.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They get coffee, and Lex talks about Spud and Chuck; about how Frank is still a moron and every single customer is still an idiot – but hey, she's a manager now, and can tell them they're idiots to their face (occasionally). She talks about California, and their plans and how they're gonna get there soon. She talks about Hannah – gone only three weeks so far (Alice just missed her) – eighteen years old, and the first Foster to make it to college – and not just that, Hannah made it all the way to UCLA. She made it to California before Lex did – but they're gonna go visit. Soon.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alice has known Hannah since they were six and seven and eight and she was two – knows the young years and the silent years and the weird years. And now she's eighteen and living on the other side of the country by herself.</p><p class="western">Two suitcases worth of belongings, a scholarship and a plane ticket to California and Hannah is living every dream Lex ever dreamed. And they're happy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alice not quite so much.</p><p class="western">She's content. She loves her dad. She loves her job (usually). She loves spending time with Lex and Ethan and even other people who moved away and came back, and those who never left.</p><p class="western">And sometimes there are those who never came back</p><hr/><p class="western">Deb returns home a year after Alice – four years of college and two years still living there after college.</p><p class="western">She'd loved it – her six years away. Hatchetfield was great but it was … small.</p><p class="western">College was big in a way she never could have imagined.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She'd learnt, and she'd tested every boundary she could find, and she explored – the world and herself.</p><p class="western">She'd dated. Sometimes. There was Alex, and Liam, and Mary, but it was never quite … right</p><p class="western">Besides, despite what the movies may try to tell people, she really had been there to learn.</p><p class="western">She'd left Hatchetfield being able to count on one hand the number of times she'd left the state.</p><p class="western">She'd left college no longer able to count the number of countries she'd visited on her fingers.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Home beckons eventually though, and Hatchetfield was calling.</p><p class="western">She got a job at the nursery as well. A different nursery.</p><p class="western">For starters, the nursery Deb works is more plant-y based, than … baby-y based.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Deb isn't entirely sure what to do with an actual – human – child. You probably have to feed them?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It takes three days for Deb to bump into Alice on the street.</p><p class="western">It takes twenty minutes to arrange to meet up for coffee and cake – to catch up on their lives. Just to chat.</p><p class="western">It takes nine days to start dating again.</p><p class="western">It surprises nobody</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">(They're married thirteen months later)</p><p class="western">(It also surprises nobody)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The baby comes ten months later</p><p class="western">It surprises many people.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They are thrilled</p><p class="western">They'd hoped but there's always the warnings, always the horror stories of months and years and nevers, and the don't wish too hard. It'll happen when it happens.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There were doctors and nurses and injections (so many injections) for both of them – Deb's having Alice's baby this time – they'll swap next time.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But it happens the first round they try.</p><p class="western">For them it happens the first round they try.</p><p class="western">(It's Father Time telling them <em>finally</em>)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She comes in August – three days before Chuck's eighth birthday, two months after Hannah moves home, degree in hand – job somewhere on the horizon.</p><p class="western">The name on the birth certificate is Evelyn, but really she's been Evie since the moment she was born.</p><p class="western">They love her, and their family is one step closer to complete.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They're twenty five and twenty six and twenty six and twenty seven.</p><p class="western">They're twenty two and seven and three and brand new.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Life is good. Life is great. Life is happy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Until little Evie is 18 months old, at least.</p><hr/><p class="western">The accident was sudden and unplanned.</p><p class="western">Well, of course it was, when an accident is planned,it's not called an accident.</p><p class="western">Its usually called murder in some way, shape or form.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Hatchetfield is a small place. Everyone remembers everything forever.</p><p class="western">
  <strike>Some people remember more than they're supposed to.</strike>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Car accidents, car crashes, <em>road traffic collisions</em>. Whatever you call them</p><p class="western">They come in a multitude of varieties, but in the end they're the same thing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A vehicle collides with … something. That something may be another car, it may be multiple other cars. It may be a tree, or a pole, or a building. It may be an animal. It may even be a pedestrian.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It was a Saturday when it happened – early March and the first Saturday that was both warm and sunny since before Winter – and the group of eight of family and friends and friends that became family made their way into the centre of town in a way that was not uncommon, not different from the way that they spent most of their weekends.</p><p class="western">Perhaps they were headed to the local bakery. Or the ice cream shop. It's even possible they were planning on heading to the play park or the library for a simple morning out.</p><p class="western">It doesn't matter. They didn't make it there.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There are many reasons why someone loses control of their car – usually due to impairment on the drivers behalf. Perhaps they were tired, or drunk, or texting, or maybe they were just a really terrible driver.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The why doesn't matter in the end. What matters is it happened, and what matters is what happened next.</p><p class="western">Because what happened next is a car that began on the road, ended on the pavement – very suddenly, and without warning.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And the group that was family, and friends, and friends that were family, were split into three – those in front of the car, those behind the car, and those underneath the car.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It began with a double friendship.</p><p class="western">It's almost fitting that it ends with a double funeral.</p><p class="western"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. POV: Ethan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The immediate aftermath of the crash.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The car is on the road. And then it's not.</p><p class="western">It's a wonderful morning. And then it's not.</p><p class="western">The world is quiet. And then it's not.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It's the screaming he remembers.</p><p class="western">Days and months and years and decades later, when everything else has faded.</p><p class="western">When he can't remember the colour of the car, or the shop they had been stood in front of, or the date it happened, or the faces of the ones they lost.</p><p class="western">On the days he forgets he ever even happened.</p><p class="western">He remembers the screaming.</p><p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn't think as it happens.</p><p class="western">There's a split second where the world slows down, a split second as the first wheel hops up onto the curb, a split second as the noise of the street fades to a distant buzz, a split second as the birds in the sky appear to freeze in place.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Chuck's hand had been in his, and he pulls; pulls and refuses to let go; pulls as they fall to the ground; pulls as they roll away from the crush and the scrape and the scream of metal.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The world narrows to Chuck before him and whatever is happening behind him.</p><p class="western">The world narrows to Chuck before him and she's safe, and she's not injured (not seriously injured he tells himself, noticing the ripped jeans that hadn't been ripped when she chose them from her drawers a few hours earlier, and the red bloom spreading on the palms of her hands – a mirror image to himself).</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And the world had narrowed to himself and Chuck; but the world never narrows for long – the blur of the world sharpening into sudden colour, the buzz of the world sharpening into sudden screaming.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Chuck is safe in his hands (he's still holding her, and he can't imagine ever letting go of her again, and he looks up and there's Hannah – still stood in front of him, hand clenched white around the handle of the bright blue wagon she had been pulling Little Evie along in.</p><p class="western">Little Evie, bright eyed and happy – disconcerted by the loud noise for merely a second – the only one lucky enough not to understand what was going on.</p><p class="western">And Hannah – hand clenched white, face drained the same. Hannah is screaming. Screaming at something over his shoulder. Screaming and terrified in a way he's never seen, and he's seen her almost every day since she was two years old.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He counts to three. He feels the solid weight of his daughter beneath his hand – alive and safe and here in front of him. He grounds himself to the warmth on his hand on her arm. He turns around.</p><p class="western">He almost wishes he hadn't.</p><p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It's Lex he sees first, still and silent – he's known her for nineteen years. She's never been still, never been silent, and he can't breathe.</p><p class="western">Because this can't be it, this can't be the end. And he can see the car, and he can see the wall, and he can see how she disappears between the two – lost from view from the waist down, crushed between the two.</p><p class="western">But this can't be it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's a moment – the longest and most terrible moment – and he can't breathe, can't move.</p><p class="western">And then she does.</p><p class="western">A shuddering breath, long and slow and painful, but its a breath. Her eyes flutter and she's trying to push herself upwards even before her eyes are fully open.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He's by her side before her eyes are fully open as well.</p><p class="western">Chuck is there too, clutching her mother's hand and her father's arm at the same time.</p><p class="western">Hannah has her hand on Lex's shoulder, softly and tentatively – hoping her eyes are lying to her unwilling to believe the view before her.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Chuck is safe. Hannah and little Evie are safe.</p><p class="western">
  <strike>He's safe, not that that ever really mattered.</strike>
</p><p class="western">Lex is alive</p><p class="western">(Safe is too big a word for her right now. She <em>will</em> be safe. For now she's alive and that's better than the alternative)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And there's something he's forgetting.</p><p class="western">Something big and something important and it's just on the tip of his tongue and he can't remember.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He looks from Lex, back to Hannah, and they're not screaming any more – silent in their shock.</p><p class="western">Chuck has her fingers clutched, and she's crying, but it's quiet desperate sobs – and little Evie doesn't understand what happened – she's annoyed that her fun ride in the wagon has come to a temporary halt, but that annoyance isn't as far as tears (yet).</p><p class="western">But that doesn't make sense because he can still hear it.</p><p class="western">He can still hear the screaming, and the pleading.</p><p class="western">And he's forgetting something important.</p><p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He can hear something.</p><p class="western">A buzz turning into a roar, and he looks around and he sees them.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They weren't the only people on the street. Just the unluckiest people on the street.</p><p class="western">He can see at least one person, possibly three, on their phones, and from the snatches of conversation he hears, he knows they're talking to 911, and that's at least something he doesn't have to do himself.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He can see someone helping Hannah to sit down, handing her a (brand new) bottle of water, and encouraging her to take a drink. (He'd learnt that trick years ago as well, when Chuck was a toddler in the midst of her temper tantrum stage – it's hard to scream, hard to cry, when you're actively drinking. It's an easy way to help them quickly calm down, even if only temporarily).</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He can see someone try to put a hand on his shoulder, and its someone he knows, someone he absolutely recognises, but he has no idea who it is, and he all but bats them away (they must know him too, because they take the hint and move out of arms reach).</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's a movement out of the corner of his eye.</p><p class="western">Movement on the other side of the car.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And that's the screaming.</p><p class="western">The second screaming. The Not-Hannah screaming.</p><p class="western">It's Deb.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It's Deb who's fine. Deb who's standing there with nary a scratch.</p><p class="western">And it's Alice.</p><p class="western">Alice who's head was the one that shattered the windscreen of the car, before being thrown back and hitting the wall behind them.</p><p class="western">Alice who's hip should not be facing that way, and who's leg definitely should not be looking like that.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alice who's laying on the ground, almost unnaturally still, her clothes red.</p><p class="western">(They had been green and blue and pastel before)</p><p class="western">(Alice doesn't even like red)</p><p class="western">Alice who's lying on the ground, and there's someone else lying there too.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And that's when he remembers.</p><p class="western">Jack.</p><p class="western">Oh dear god.</p><p class="western">Jack.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He's crumpled in a fetal position, so much smaller than he should be at nearly five years old.</p><p class="western">There's a cut of his head that's bleeding at an alarming rate, a leg bent in a position that no leg should be, black grit that had once been part of the ground embedded all down his side.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And he wasn't moving. Eyes closed, unmoving.</p><p class="western">Ethan felt the air turn to syrup as he tried to make his way closer to the tiny boy, <em>his</em> tiny boy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It takes seconds and minutes and hours (it feels like it takes seconds and minutes and hours) until he reaches Jack's side.</p><p class="western">His eyes are closed. He's unmoving.</p><p class="western">He's unmoving, except...</p><p class="western">He's unmoving, except for his chest.</p><p class="western">His chest.</p><p class="western">Up and down.</p><p class="western">His eyes are closed. He's unmoving.</p><p class="western">He's breathing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And for the first time in too many seconds, Ethan breathes too.</p><p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The car door cracks open; and for the first time Ethan realises – <em>oh. Yeah. There was someone driving the car</em>. Funny how things like that seem to escape your mind when your son is crumpled in an unconscious pile on the floor; when Alice isn't waking up; when Lex is … when Lex is in the situation they're in.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The airbag has deployed, the glass shattered across his face and arms – a million, million tiny cuts across his visible skin, red seeping through the white of his shirt.</p><p class="western">Ethan doesn't recognise him – a nondescript face for a nondescript person. He's probably lived in Hatchetfield his whole life. They've almost definitely passed each other on the street before – passed each other a lifetime before he ended two lifetimes.</p><p class="western">He's terrified. He's in shock, and pain, and his face is completely blank.</p><p class="western">His eyes aren't though. His eyes are screaming – <em>my fault, my fault, oh my god, this was my fault</em>.</p><p class="western">His eyes are terrified. His eyes are sorry. His eyes think that makes any difference.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And Ethan is angry. He is <em>so</em> angry. Angrier than since he was a teenager screaming at a world that refused to listen. And probably angrier than he ever was then – because now he's an adult and he's still screaming at the world, and he's been screaming so long, and still the world refuses to listen.</p><p class="western">Still the world takes it all away.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">So Ethan all but snarls at the man who'd been driving the vehicle – who then makes the very sensible decision to remain inside his car; glass and all.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">If Lex dies.</p><p class="western">If Jack dies.</p><p class="western">If Alice dies.</p><p class="western">If anyone dies.</p><p class="western">Ethan knows (and Ethan hates that he knows, but deep inside himself he knows) that he will not stop until this … man, this plague in a human form … has joined them.</p><p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It's seconds that feels like hours, and minutes that feel like seconds and he can hear sirens in the air – closer and closer, closing distance until there's no sirens at all, replaced with two vehicles worth of people with uniforms and medical supplies and a steady hand and a calm face.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It's a well oiled machine.</p><p class="western">It's Jack and Alice they go to first – Lex is trapped, Lex is in pain (in a lot of pain), but Lex is awake, Lex is aware, Lex is talking, Lex is fine.</p><p class="western">Jack still hasn't woken up, Jack is bleeding, Jack is just a baby (okay so he's nearly five, but he's <em>their</em> baby). Ethan still can't even tell if Jack is really breathing, or if it's just his own force of will that refuses to let him see the truth.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Two of the Medicine-Ones move Ethan back, and there are wires and little machines, but it's beeping and Ethan has seen movies, and movies mean a heartbeat? Right? It means he's okay? (Okay being a relative term at this point, but okay being a term he will take).</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The other two Medicine-Ones are crouched over Alice, and she's got the same wires, and Deb is trying to hold her still, Alice's eyes starting to flicker open for the first time, and Evie is crying for her mothers – and there's beeping and everything is going to be okay.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">This is going to be the worst day.</p><p class="western">But everything is going to be okay.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It's a well choreographed dance.</p><p class="western">Alice is strapped to a bed, rolled into the back of the van, her eyes opening fully for the first time to see herself being led away from the accident, being led away from Deb and Evie, her eyes opening in time for a silent goodbye even as she has no idea what's going on.</p><p class="western">Jack is strapped to a stretcher, lifted into the back of the van beside Alice; still asleep (that's what Ethan tells Chuck. He's sleeping, he's just sleeping, he's okay); still beeping; still alive.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's a Medicine-One in the back. There's a Medicine-One in the front.</p><p class="western">Deb climbs into the front passenger seat; fire in her eyes, an invitation for them to tell her to get out.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It takes minutes for the five of them to leave.</p><p class="western">There are seven left at the scene.</p><p class="western">(Eight if you include the driver.)</p><p class="western">(Ethan does not include the driver.)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But Jack is safe.</p><p class="western">He's alive and he's in the best hands possible (Deb's. There's not a thing she wouldn't do to keep her family safe. And they're family. They've always been family).</p><p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It happens on a warm and sunny Saturday morning in early March, on the floor in front of Ethan and their daughter and the random bystanders that had gathered around to gawk at the accident.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">For a single bright shining moment, everything is going to be okay.</p><p class="western">For a single moment.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's still movement happening – there are the ones with the machinery and the ones with the medicine, and most importantly there's Chuck and Hannah and himself, and the three of them aren't going anywhere (Evie is also there, but she's also strapped into her wagon, and she's one. She's also not going anywhere).</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The Machinery-Ones and the Medicine-Ones are talking, and they're talking quickly, and they're using words that Ethan doesn't understand – words that he may understand under normal circumstances, but these are so far from normal circumstances – and they're helping Lex, and as long as they're helping Lex they can speak in as many tongues as they like.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They've pumped so much morphine into her, that they could probably stick her in a blender and still Lex would feel nothing.</p><p class="western">But she's still talking, still conscious – and Ethan is holding onto that that he'd like to be holding onto Lex, but Lex is holding tight onto Hannah with one hand, the other hand stolen by the Medicine-Ones, and her eyes are for Chuck and no one else.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lex is talking, talking about everything and nothing, and Ethan is trying to concentrate on the words but he can't, he just can't, the words slipping over his head, through his ears without him ever really hearing them.</p><p class="western">But Chuck is hearing and it's Chuck the words are directed at anyway, Chuck and Hannah and Jack (so far away but he's safe and he's going to live and Alice is going to live and Lex is going to live or Ethan is going to be having words with someone)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He hears snippets.</p><p class="western">
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Be a good girl.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>I love you so much.</em>
</p><p class="western">And Chuck is talking and Hannah's talking and he's talking and they're crying and maybe he's crying. He can't tell at this point. And the words are important. And the words are theirs and they're not sharing the words.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">This is not the end.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's a count down.</p><p class="western">He hears it, loud and cruelly clear.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Three. Two. One.</em>
</p><p class="western">They move the car.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lex opens her eyes – big and wide even with the sun directly in them, eyes that find Ethan and they find Chuck, eyes that smile as wide as her mouth usually does.</p><p class="western">She takes a breath in.</p><p class="western">She lets out a sigh.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And there was so much blood.</p><p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The car is on the road. And then it's not.</p><p class="western">It's a wonderful morning. And then it's not.</p><p class="western">The world is quiet. And then it's not.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And Lex is alive. She's real and she's alive.</p><p class="western">And then she's not.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Do I feel bad about killing Lex? Kinda. There's still one death to go to make it a double funeral though, but that'll be in the next chapter.</p><p>This was barely edited, so point out any weirdness and I'll correct it.</p><p>Please review - if I don't have external validation from strangers, what do I have?<br/>Hope you enjoyed it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. POV: Hannah</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hannah wants to scream.<br/>She doesn't.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The world is ending.</p><p class="western">And the world is fine.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The larger world – the one most people live in, the one that she usually lives in – is fine. It's dandy even – most people not realising that anything was amiss.</p><p class="western">The smaller world – the world of Hannah and Lexie and Ethan and Chuck and Jack. The smaller world is ending.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's blood on her knees which is her own, and blood on her hands which isn't.</p><p class="western">There's blood on her face and she has no idea whose that is.</p><p class="western">She thinks she knows how Lady Macbeth felt, and wonders if the blood will ever scrub from her own hands.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And Ethan isn't crying – Hannah doesn't think she's ever seen Ethan cry.</p><p class="western">She thinks she'd be a lot more terrified than she already is, if she saw Ethan crying.</p><p class="western">But he's not letting go.</p><p class="western">The EMTs aren't doing anything and Hannah wants to scream.</p><p class="western">But she doesn't.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And there's blood. There's so much blood, and most of it is Lexie's.</p><p class="western">And Hannah didn't know that one person could have that much blood.</p><p class="western">(Or she knew it, logically. She just never expected to see it laid out on the floor in front of her)</p><p class="western">There's a droplet of blood that escaped from her lips, and for some reason Hannah has the strangest desire to wipe it away.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Wipe it away like she was seven and Lexie was twelve and staying home from school to look after a tiny Hannah throwing up in the toilet.</p><p class="western">They'd had a mother back then. Technically.</p><p class="western">Lexie was the only mother Hannah ever acknowledged.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It was her stomach that wouldn't be clean though.</p><p class="western">The shirt that had been a blue green colour just twenty minutes, ten minutes, thirty minutes earlier – the shirt stained a mud brown colour; the blues and greens and reds running together in the worst way.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She wants to reach out and touch it, to make Lexie look like Lexie again.</p><p class="western">She can't.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Someone else arrives at the scene.</p><p class="western">They're moving Evie back, turning Chuck around.</p><p class="western">(Chuck. Poor, poor Chuck. How many worlds will end today.)</p><p class="western">She feels a pair of hands on her shoulders, trying to lead her away but she holds tight.</p><p class="western">Holds tight to the hand that always held tight to her.</p><p class="western">Holds tight even as it's limp beneath her.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's a sigh and the hands move to Ethan.</p><p class="western">Had it been another day, another set of circumstances, Hannah may have laughed.</p><p class="western">Someone thinking they could make Ethan do anything that Ethan didn't want to do?</p><p class="western">(Or Lex didn't want Ethan to do? She always had a way of getting Ethan to see things from the correct perspective. Her perspective of course)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It takes her a moment but she recognises Tony – probably the only person insane enough right now to try and pull Ethan away, to take him away from Lexie.</p><p class="western">(Please come back Lexie. Please come back)</p><p class="western">News travels fast in a small town.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He's the only grandparent Chuck and Jack have – well, Pamela's still alive. Probably. They haven't seen her intentionally in years. But were they really going to give her the chance to mess up her grandchildren the way she messed up her own kids?</p><p class="western">No. The answer is no.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Evie's grandad also lives in Hatchetfield. She's got one grandmother who moved to one side of the country – and a pair of grandparents who moved to the other side. The whole set, even if she only sees three quarters of them at the major holidays (and sometimes not even then).</p><p class="western">Bill is great though.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Grandpa Bill basically has three grandchildren at this point.</p><p class="western">So does Papa Tony, to be fair.</p><p class="western">Pamela – the woman they cross the road to avoid – has none.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It's getting quieter.</p><p class="western">(Or is it – is she just ignoring more?)</p><p class="western">Has Alice gone?</p><p class="western">(It hurts less than trying to think about Lexie)</p><p class="western">Has she gone?</p><p class="western">Not gone-gone. Not gone forever.</p><p class="western">(Not gone the way of Lexie)</p><p class="western">Gone to the hospital.</p><p class="western">Gone with Jack and with Deb.</p><p class="western">Just gone.</p><p class="western">Her mouth isn't working, her words not standing a chance against everything that happened.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He's trying to talk to Ethan. Trying to get him to move – to do something.</p><p class="western">He won't.</p><p class="western">He could just go. Get back in his car. Come back when the bloods been cleaned away.</p><p class="western">He won't.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Hannah is still holding her hand. It's still warm.</p><p class="western">She's still <em>Lexie</em>. She's got to still be Lexie.</p><p class="western">It's all she's ever known – Hannah and Lexie.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Sure over time people got added to their little family.</p><p class="western">Ethan being an important.</p><p class="western">Chuck and Jack.</p><p class="western">Tony.</p><p class="western">Alice and Deb and Evie and kinda even Bill eventually.</p><p class="western">But Hannah and Lexie.</p><p class="western">Always and forever.</p><p class="western">Hannah and Lexie.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lexie promised she'd never go, she'd never leave Hannah behind.</p><p class="western">And she hadn't.</p><p class="western">It had always been Hannah who left.</p><p class="western">Hannah who left for college, and Hannah who left for a job, and Hannah who left behind Lexie and Ethan and Chuck.</p><p class="western">And it's Lexie lying on the floor.</p><p class="western">But it's Hannah who takes her hand away and leaves Lexie one last time.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ethan is collapsed on the floor, and Hannah doesn't think he has the strength to ever pick himself back up again. Chuck is frozen – a deer in a headlights, half a second before they bolt. Tony has one hand on his son, one hand holding his granddaughter in all but blood.</p><p class="western">And they're placing a sheet over Lexie.</p><p class="western">And Hannah thought that was just a thing in movies but apparently its not. And people are taking photos, and they're taking videos, and she can see them – these people that she knows, these people that know her, that know Lexie, and they're looking at them through the camera screen, and Hannah wants to scream.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She doesn't.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The car ride back to Tony's house was awful in many senses of the word.</p><p class="western">He's driving (of course he is, it's his car. Why would anyone else be driving), and he's trying to pretend he's calm but he's not – she can see the energy in his fingers, in his arms, in his neck. She's good at spotting the energy before it jumps out at you.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ethan is sat in the other front seat, and he's calm. He's calm and it terrifies her – she has known Ethan since she was two years old, and he's never been calm once in his entire life. It's like everything that made Ethan <em>Ethan</em> was drained out of him back on that street and there's this shell left in front of her and she doesn't know what she can do about it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Chuck is sat on her left hand side; and as much as the 'real' adults in the front were calm, Chuck is not. A continually moving wriggling worm that doesn't stop. And she's stopped crying, but there are still tear tracks down her face, and she hasn't tried talking since it had taken the three of them working together to strap her into the car.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Evie is strapped into the car seat Tony keeps in his car for Jack (the straps need some adjusting but it works well enough. No one needs a second accident.)</p><p class="western">And yes, despite appearances, he is <em>that</em> grandfather who adores his grandchildren and would have quite happily looked after them in lieu of daycare if it wasn't for things like the fact that he worked at the body shop at least sixty hours a week. And it's not exactly the safest place for a pair of toddlers to be running around.</p><p class="western">Evie's little wagon is in the trunk - the second most difficult to get into the car after Chuck – that wagon did not want to fit in the small space. They forced it though.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And then Hannah herself – the world too loud, and too quiet at the same time. She can feel everything, and she feels nothing. The world is in sharp glaring focus, and she can't see at all for the fuzz that surrounds everything, for the bubble that surrounds her.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The house comes into view within only a few minutes – it's Hatchetfield, it was never going to take long to drive anywhere.</p><p class="western">She's been to Tony's house a lot. There were a number of years when she spent more time here than at “her” house. Less time, once Lex and Ethan moved out, and she moved with them – but still a fair amount.</p><p class="western">The Green boys may have difficulty showing their emotions but they love each other. That has always been clear to those who know them.</p><p class="western">Tony is carrying Evie, and Ethan is carrying Chuck, and Hannah is carrying herself (barely).</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She makes it to the living room, and not a step further.</p><p class="western">Ethan is already on his phone.</p><p class="western">She doesn't even know where Tony is. (She doesn't look either)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She hears “Alice”. She hears “Jack”. She hears “Surgery”. She hears “How long”. She hears “No”.(She pretends she doesn't hear the tears in his voice.)</p><p class="western">She hears “On our way already”.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She hears Ethan talking to Chuck. She hears Ethan talking to her.</p><p class="western">She couldn't tell you what he had said though.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She hears Tony put Evie down in the corner of the room that has long since been overtaken by children's toys.</p><p class="western">(Because again – that grandfather.)</p><p class="western">(The kind of grandfather that loves his family.)</p><p class="western">(She never had a grandfather like that. Or grandmother. Or aunt. Or uncle. Or mother. Or father)</p><p class="western">(She had Lexie. And she had Ethan. And then she had Chuck and Jack.)</p><p class="western">(That's all she ever had)</p><p class="western">
  <strike>(Please come back Lexie)</strike>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's a “be good” and a “there's food in the fridge” and a “I'll text you as soon as I know anything”.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And then they were gone.</p><p class="western">(There's zero chance Tony is letting Ethan drive in this state)</p><p class="western">And Hannah was in charge.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Because that was a super sensible idea.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">On the one hand – yeah, Hannah is twenty three, she is legally an adult and definitely the most suitable to be left in charge when compared to a nine year old and a literal baby.</p><p class="western">On the other hand – well … after everything that happened in the past hour, Hannah barely had the energy to collapse on the couch, Chuck silently beside her, Evie playing with her dolly – blissfully ignorant to the world.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The doorbell rang. Or probably rang.</p><p class="western">Hannah could hear something ringing through the fuzz currently occupying her brain.</p><p class="western">The doorbell rings again. This time it's definitely ringing.</p><p class="western">And Hannah considers standing up.</p><p class="western">Considers walking the whole way to door (an entire fifteen feet or so from where she's currently collapsed).</p><p class="western">But that takes brain energy, and body energy, and right now she has neither.</p><p class="western">So she stays where she is.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Also this isn't her house, or Lex and Ethan's house, it's Tony's house.</p><p class="western">Also, who's ringing Tony doorbell at ten in the morning on a Saturday?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The answer as it turned out, was Tony.</p><p class="western">(He'd forgotten his keys and couldn't get back in)</p><p class="western">(He's got no information on Jack and Alice and Deb – he'd made sure Ethan had made it into the hospital before turning around and coming back to the three of them.)</p><p class="western">(He'd also figured out that Hannah maybe wasn't the best person to be left in charge right now.)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He makes himself busy from the moment he walks through the door – there's the sudden aroma of coffee and hot chocolate (it's his “special treat” - what he always makes for Chuck when the girl has been behaving), the rustling of someone quite obviously searching through kitchen cupboards, looking for snacks, and a steady stream of consciousness in a recognisable and soothing tone.</p><p class="western">He's just … talking, and then talking some more. And Hannah can't hear what he's saying, but he's talking and that's something vaguely normal (she's not used to a quiet house; not when she was a kid, not at college, not with Lex and Ethan these past few months), and Hannah feels like she can breathe.</p><p class="western">Not anything more than breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.</p><p class="western">But it's something.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Chuck still hasn't spoken, but she gets her hands around the warm mug. It's real hot chocolate – not that powder and water make-believe shit that pretends to be. There's tiny marshmallows, and a veritable mountain of whipped cream heaped on the top.</p><p class="western">Tony is like Ethan in that sense. If you can't solve a problem – try throwing chocolate at it.</p><p class="western">It can't hurt at any rate.</p><p class="western">A toy from the corner – one that used to be one of Chuck's favourites, but that she hadn't thought about in years at this point – ends up under her arm somehow.</p><p class="western">She doesn't smile. The small girl's not sure her mouth remembers how.</p><p class="western">But she doesn't look like she's about blow away into dust. That's maybe the best they could hope for right now.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Little Evie is sat surrounded with the toys – the toys she normally isn't allowed to play with. Every so often she looks around, as if to see where her mothers are, but her attention is quickly reoccupied by another shining something, another sparkling something, another simple something that'll hold her attention for the next few minutes.</p><p class="western">Hannah's jealous.</p><p class="western">She wishes she could be one again. So easily distracted by the smallest of things. Her parents are somewhere, anywhere but she's happy. She's going to be okay.</p><p class="western">(Hopefully Alice is going to be okay.)</p><p class="western">(Hopefully Jack is going to be okay.)</p><p class="western">(Lex is not going to be okay.)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Then Tony sits with Hannah.</p><p class="western">They don't talk. He doesn't even try.</p><p class="western">They just are.</p><p class="western">They sit there – Tony's eyes continually moving, scanning the room, watching everything, even as he sits, perfectly motionless – Hannah is completely rigid, still barely breathing let alone moving, the sights and sounds and smells of the room floating aimlessly above her head, out of reach even if she had wanted to hold onto the fading world.</p><p class="western">She doesn't.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Eventually Tony moves. She brings back a small bowl of water and a face cloth.</p><p class="western">It's a pale cream colour, and there are roses on it.</p><p class="western">It's definitely not his.</p><p class="western">It looks like something someone left behind (probably on purpose looking at the design).</p><p class="western">It's funny the things you notice when you don't notice anything.</p><p class="western">And Tony cleans her hands first, wiping the blood that doesn't belong to her away.</p><p class="western">The knees are next, and there's a hitch in Hannah breath as the cloth touches a sensitive spot.</p><p class="western">The face is last.</p><p class="western">There's a new bowl of water, and a new cloth.</p><p class="western">This one is blue and faded and well loved. She doesn't know where they're coming from.</p><p class="western">There's a sore spot on the side of her head that means at least some of her face was her own blood; and there's a streak down a cheek in the shape of finger marks that means some of it wasn't.</p><p class="western">Hannah breathes. Hannah doesn't move. Hannah wants to scream.</p><p class="western">She doesn't.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Her phone pings every so often.</p><p class="western">When it's Ethan, she answers as soon as she can muster the strength to pick up the phone.</p><p class="western">When it's anyone else, she doesn't even bother.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The colours on the television change drastically, and Hannah realises the show they had been “watching” (the mid-morning mindless nothing they had put on because the sights and sound of something was better than the sight and sound of nothing) had ended, replaced by the usual midday news programme.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Hannah recognises the street the reporter is stood on.</p><p class="western">(Of course she does – it's Hatchetfield. It's tiny. She recognises every street in the entire town)</p><p class="western">But she <em>really</em> recognises the street.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And the reporter is saying something, there are definitely words coming out of her mouth.</p><p class="western">Chuck snaps her head up, Evie is blissfully ignorant in her babyhood, Hannah wants to lunge for the remote but Tony is the one who actually does – switching the channel to something child-centred.</p><p class="western">Bold and bright, loud in every sense possible.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There's a few notifications on Hannah's phone.</p><p class="western">A few more.</p><p class="western">Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.</p><p class="western">She turns her phone off.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Hannah wants to scream.</p><p class="western">She doesn't.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Silence reigns.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I know I said there would be another death in this chapter - but this was only meant to be half a chapter, but then Hannah started talking and didn't stop and it turned into the longest chapter I've written so far.<br/>So yeah - the final character death will be coming in Chapter Three Part Two.<br/>Now known as Chapter Four.</p><p>Hope you enjoyed!<br/>Please review, I rely on validation from strangers to keep me going through the week.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you came here from a subscription – there have been edits made to chapter one and three. They're pretty minor, and mostly related to mixing Nightmare Time into the fic, but it's probably worth re-reading the whole fic</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">It wasn't difficult to spot Deb in the hospital waiting room.</p>
<p class="western">She was the one sat there covered in blood she refused to clean, or let anyone else clean away.</p>
<p class="western">There were tears in her clothes that hadn't been there before, tear tracks that had barely stopped flowing clinging to her cheeks, her hair no longer in the smooth state it had once been.</p>
<p class="western">She was the one barely keeping it together in a waiting room of family members waiting on routine surgeries.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Ethan takes the seat, not next to her but one seat down. It's easier that way.</p>
<p class="western">They don't have to make any pretence at talk. They can sit in silence together. They can pretend this isn't happening together.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Ethan can't thinking about what happened. He can't think of what's done and gone.</p>
<p class="western">(Done and gone)</p>
<p class="western">(Gone and gone)</p>
<p class="western">That's not going to happen to Jack.</p>
<p class="western">Nothing is going to happen to Jack.</p>
<p class="western">Nothing is going to happen to Alice.</p>
<p class="western">No way anything worse is going to happen to their family.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">There's a pile of magazines in the corner – the most up to date of them still at least three years old – and a stack of board games next to it.</p>
<p class="western">Who sits in a hospital waiting room and plays board games?</p>
<p class="western">Definitely not the people covered in blood.</p>
<p class="western">Maybe they're for the people just passing through – the minor surgeries. The one or two hour, no risk tiny things. Maybe they're calm enough for board games.</p>
<p class="western">There's even a small table – too large to be specifically child sized, but definitely not comfortable looking for a full grown adult to sit at – covered in paper and pens and some other small crafty thing. It takes him a few minutes – closer to fifteen – that it's supposed to be for creating your own greeting cards.</p>
<p class="western">Who does that help? No one is helped by a scribble on some paper.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">(It's around hour three that he figures out making the greeting card is not for the sake of the patient, but for those waiting. Those stuck forever waiting.)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">There's a TV blaring somewhere in the background. Well – blaring is probably the wrong word – the noise is barely above a whisper, subtitles on so that people who care can still follow along with the plot. It sounds like blaring. It's some crime scene TV show – the sort of thing that takes almost no brain energy to watch. It still takes more brain energy than he has.</p>
<p class="western">He ignores it.</p>
<p class="western">He sits in silence.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Bill turns up at some point – taking the seat on the other side of Deb.</p>
<p class="western">He's panicked and he's talking. He talks a lot.</p>
<p class="western">Ethan thinks maybe Deb answers him.</p>
<p class="western">He doesn't think he can talk anymore.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It's about two hours that the surgeon (a surgeon? Someone who looks vaguely important and knows what's going on) comes over.</p>
<p class="western">It's going well so far.</p>
<p class="western">That's what she says.</p>
<p class="western">Going well.</p>
<p class="western">It's something.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Two hours later she comes back.</p>
<p class="western">Alice is out of surgery. There were some minor complications but that'll be explained later.</p>
<p class="western">She'll come back to get them once she's out of recovery.</p>
<p class="western">She'll come back to get them once they can go to her.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">That takes an hour.</p>
<p class="western">You can watch them get wound up by the second, tighter and tighter like a clock, until they're fit to burst. It's almost worse now they know they're going to see her soon.</p>
<p class="western">Now every minute feels likes a life time.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Almost worse.</p>
<p class="western">Deb and Bill were collected an hour ago.</p>
<p class="western">Six hours since Alice and Jack had been delivered to the hospital.</p>
<p class="western">And still no word on Jack since that brief update now four hours ago.</p>
<p class="western">This is worse.</p>
<p class="western">At least they'd heard something about Alice.</p>
<p class="western">They've been with her for an hour now.</p>
<p class="western">He doesn't even know if his son is still alive.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">His dad texts him every so often.</p>
<p class="western">Hannah is basically catatonic.</p>
<p class="western">Chuck has started running around like a mad thing.</p>
<p class="western">Little Evie is playing happily.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He replies once.</p>
<p class="western">Alice is out.</p>
<p class="western">He hasn't mentioned Jack.</p>
<p class="western">He can't speculate on this.</p>
<p class="western">He won't speculate on this.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="western">He looks so small.</p>
<p class="western">Four years old.</p>
<p class="western">(Almost five.)</p>
<p class="western">(Only eighteen days away from his fifth birthday)</p>
<p class="western">(They've been counting down the days for two weeks already)</p>
<p class="western">(He was so excited)</p>
<p class="western">
  <strike>(Is. Will Be. It's not past tense yet)</strike>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">But he looks so small.</p>
<p class="western">A tiny figure mostly hidden in a bed designed for adults.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He's usually the 'big' one.</p>
<p class="western">(The tallest in his nursery – except for the teachers, <em>of course</em> – Jack proudly reminds them at least once a week)</p>
<p class="western">But he's laying there; needles, and monitors, and tubes, and a ventilator, and a cast covering probably sixty percent of his body</p>
<p class="western">(There'd been an explanation at some point – hips, and legs, and spine.)</p>
<p class="western">(There'll be time to think about all of that later)</p>
<p class="western">(He can't spare the mental space to think about it yet)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The ventilator isn't like the kind he's used to seeing on tvs and in the movies.</p>
<p class="western">It isn't the little tube that runs underneath his nose, making Jack look like he's “just sleeping”.</p>
<p class="western">It's the tube down his throat, splitting into two and disappearing into a giant mess of machines and electronics and beeping.</p>
<p class="western">(It's loud and it's silent and it's everything in a way that's crushing)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">And Ethan has never believed in anything, but he thinks this might be what praying is, as he sits by his son's <strike>his baby's</strike> bedside, begging him to wake up.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">And that's when the heart monitor stops.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="western">She looks so small.</p>
<p class="western">A slight thing enveloped in such a large bed.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Blonde hair fanned out – she looks like an angel already</p>
<p class="western">(Don't think like that)</p>
<p class="western">There's a noticeable dip in the covers where her lower leg should be.</p>
<p class="western">(Where her lower left leg isn't any more.)</p>
<p class="western">(… Minor Complication)</p>
<p class="western">(… Amputation)</p>
<p class="western">(Basically the same thing, right?)</p>
<p class="western">(It's all okay. It's all fine. People have gotten through worse.)</p>
<p class="western">(Please get through this)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She's always been small.</p>
<p class="western">Both in stature and sometimes in the way she holds herself.</p>
<p class="western">She's good at making herself invisible. It's not as bad as when she was a teenager. So unsure of herself in the way that all teenagers seem to be, no matter how they try to mask it.</p>
<p class="western">She's been better recently. Takes up the space she wants to take up.</p>
<p class="western">This is a different sort of Small.</p>
<p class="western">This is needles and monitors and tubes and ventilators, and empty spaces where there used to be body parts.</p>
<p class="western">The doctors try to explain what each machine is for.</p>
<p class="western">Knowledge is power.</p>
<p class="western">This is supposed to be less terrifying if they're fully aware of what's going on.</p>
<p class="western">Bill catches some of it.</p>
<p class="western">Deb doesn't.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She's trying to memorise this face. The face she only just got back. They were so stupid – leaving each other for six /years/ like that.</p>
<p class="western">This is the kind of thing that lasts forever. Alice knows that. Alice knows she can't die because she and Deb are supposed to live forever. And failing that they're supposed to live a really long time then die in their sleep, holding hands, hair white and faces covered in laughter lines.</p>
<p class="western">They're supposed to have a life.</p>
<p class="western">(They're going to.)</p>
<p class="western">(She's not dead)</p>
<p class="western">(She's not dead)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She looks it. Her skin is pale and her lips are almost blue. And everyone (everyone in the movies) says it's just like “she's sleeping” but she's not. Deb has watched her sleep. A lot. More than is probably normal.</p>
<p class="western">(She just naturally wakes up earlier. It's not weird)</p>
<p class="western">Alice isn't sleeping.</p>
<p class="western">(The tubes are helping her live.)</p>
<p class="western">(They're stopping her die.)</p>
<p class="western">(It's a difference.)</p>
<p class="western">(Slight – but definitely there.)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">And the doctors leave. They have other patients. There are always other patients.</p>
<p class="western">Bill is praying. He does that a lot.</p>
<p class="western">He believes – he really does. He goes to church at least once a week – usually twice.</p>
<p class="western">Deb doesn't believe. Her parents never took her to church. She never went of her own accord. Neither did Alice.</p>
<p class="western">Deb prays anyway, copying Bill's actions. It can't hurt.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">And that's when the heart monitor stops.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="western">“We've done all we can.” That's what they said. That's what the doctors say.</p>
<p class="western">Like it's not there job to do everything. His <em>heart</em> stopped. He's four. His heart shouldn't be stopping. They should be fixing him.</p>
<p class="western">There's a second where he wants to pick someone up and shake them until they do something more to help Jack.</p>
<p class="western">But that won't help. Nothing will help.</p>
<p class="western">“If he wakes up in the morning, his chances are good.”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">If.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It's a short word. So much depends on it.</p>
<p class="western">If. If. If.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He doesn't sleep.</p>
<p class="western">Jack does. Technically. His chest rises and falls – in no small part helped along by the tubes and pipes, even more now than there had been before. His eyes are closed.</p>
<p class="western">They flutter every so often. Ethan thinks he's dreaming.</p>
<p class="western">He hopes they're good dreams.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He sits by the bed all night.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">An hour ticks by. A second one. A third.</p>
<p class="western">His phone sits silent – the only people who would have been talking to him having (thankfully) long since gone to sleep.</p>
<p class="western">It's somewhere about the fourth hour that he starts to see the first rays of the sun.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It sparkles in the distance, jumping off of trees and buildings with every passing minute.</p>
<p class="western">It's almost beautiful.</p>
<p class="western">He can probably count on one hand the number of times he's actually watched a sunrise.</p>
<p class="western">All of them were with Lex.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">(Lex)</p>
<p class="western">(She's gone.)</p>
<p class="western">(She's gone and she's not coming back.)</p>
<p class="western">(Please come back Lex.)</p>
<p class="western">(I can't do this alone.)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He's alone.</p>
<p class="western">Ethan is alone.</p>
<p class="western">He's never been truly alone before.</p>
<p class="western">As a kid he had his dad always by his side.</p>
<p class="western">As an adult it was Lex. It had always been Lex. There would never be another Lex.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It has been less than twenty four hours.</p>
<p class="western">He doesn't know what to do.</p>
<p class="western">He doesn't know how to cope.</p>
<p class="western">He doesn't know what would happen if he lost Jack too.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Jack's just a baby. He's <em>his</em> baby.</p>
<p class="western">Ethan doesn't cry. He hasn't cried in all of this.</p>
<p class="western">He hasn't cried in years. It's probably (definitely) a little unhealthy.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">But tears escape anyway.</p>
<p class="western">He closes his eyes – as if that would force them away.</p>
<p class="western">He closes his eyes and he begs.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">“Please open your eyes.”</p>
<hr/>
<p class="western">“We've done all we can.”</p>
<p class="western">That's what they said. That's what the doctors said.</p>
<p class="western">They're not supposed to say things like that. They can't have just 'done all they can'.</p>
<p class="western">There's got to be something more that they can do.</p>
<p class="western">There's always something more to be done.</p>
<p class="western">This can't be the end.</p>
<p class="western">She won't let this be the end.</p>
<p class="western">“Whether she makes it is up to her now. If she wakes up in the morning, her chances are good”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">They sit by her bed all night. Deb on her left side. Bill on her right.</p>
<p class="western">She doesn't begrudge him this. Alice is more or less his entire life.</p>
<p class="western">There'd been a few texts earlier in the evening – Tony keeping her updated on Evie.</p>
<p class="western">But there'd been nothing for hours. Not surprising, judging by the moon in the sky – the impenetrable blackness covering the town.</p>
<p class="western">They sit by her bed all night.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Bill drifts off.</p>
<p class="western">He wakes up a few times too. The chair isn't exactly comfortable – he wakes up from sheer discomfort more than anything else.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Hours tick by.</p>
<p class="western">One more hour.</p>
<p class="western">Alice's chest rises and falls.</p>
<p class="western">Two hours.</p>
<p class="western">Her eyes flutter.</p>
<p class="western">Three hours.</p>
<p class="western">Maybe she's dreaming.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Deb wishes she was dreaming.</p>
<p class="western">(Does she wish Alice was dreaming – dreaming lovely images that don't involve cars and screaming and hospitals and the last twenty four hours)</p>
<p class="western">(Does she wish that she herself was dreaming – that this past twenty four hours are nothing more than the result of too little sleep, and weird food before bed.)</p>
<p class="western">(Maybe both)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The sun rises.</p>
<p class="western">It would probably be considered beautiful, if Deb were in such a position to consider anything beautiful.</p>
<p class="western">Bill is in one of his sleeping phases – muttering slightly under his breath, but not enough to distract her.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">And Deb is alone.</p>
<p class="western">Two people in the room, and she is completely alone.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">This was supposed to be the start of everything.</p>
<p class="western">They got two years in High School. They've had the past three and a half years.</p>
<p class="western">(Three and a half wonderful years)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">They're supposed to have so much more.</p>
<p class="western">What about all the wasted time.</p>
<p class="western">The six years they missed out on while they were running around on opposite sides of the country. The six years they missed – missing each other all the while.</p>
<p class="western">This isn't the end.</p>
<p class="western">This can't be the end.</p>
<p class="western">This was supposed to be their start.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Evie is so little.</p>
<p class="western">If something happened – Evie would never remember.</p>
<p class="western">But when nothing happens.</p>
<p class="western">When everything turns out okay.</p>
<p class="western">Evie's not going to remember this little blip either.</p>
<p class="western">That's good.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">And that's where the tears start.</p>
<p class="western">They're quiet.</p>
<p class="western">But she can't stop.</p>
<p class="western">She opened the gates.</p>
<p class="western">She can't stop.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She closes her eyes and begs.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">“Please open your eyes.”</p>
<hr/>
<p class="western">Jack listens.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Alice does not.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I need you to be aware there was a plan to kill Jack. Like Alice and Lex were always going to die. But Jack was going to hold on til after the funeral, then need another surgery and there'd be complications and he'd die the day before his fifth birthday.</p>
<p>Just kinda … kicking Ethan while he was down. In the six months since I updated – the plot evolved. And now Jack gets to live.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I haven't written anything in like eighteen months, so if this is awful - that's why.<br/>Barely edited, so if something is weird or confusing - point it out and I'll fix it!</p><p>This chapter was essentially a giant info dump, just to quickly get you up to speed for the actual story to begin in chapter two.</p><p>Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review - I need external validation from strangers to survive</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>